AC: (The Melody Saga) Inheritance
by AssassinsForTheWin
Summary: (Part 1 of The Melody Saga) Melody Bunker is a young Assassin, tasked with hiding undercover at AE as an employee. When she suddenly is switched from her current assignment to Ravenna Kenway, things begin to go south. Abstergo discovers Mel's identity, and they want something her ancestor had. Can Melody and her friends get to it first, or will the Templars finally reign supreme?
1. Introduction

Hello and welcome to **Assassin's Creed: The Melody Saga**! I came up with this idea in the spring of 2014 and have been working on it since. I only just got the confidence to actually do something with it maybe four months ago (July-ish 2014) and it hasn't yielded much on Quotev. So here I am!

The storyline is completely original, although I will admit the modern portion is a little. . . .not ("captured" by Abstergo, "forced" to relive memories, followed by an escape aided by an "inside agent"). Yeah, so Mel starts off basically Desmond, but the first story is literally the wife of Connor who doesn't amount to much in the long run XD. The point of all that is (attempting) to showcase my writing skills and (again, attempting) to hook in readers who'll stick around for the, very much better, second installment dubbed **Retribution**. What I'm also trying to accomplish is not contradicting the main storyline! So basically utilizing unknown information to fit my plot plausibly within canon. For those fluent in wikispeak, I'm aiming for _fanon_ or _fan-canon_.

**If I slip up, please, notify me of this! **I'm trying very hard on this story, and I want it to be as accurate as possible.

Oh, another thing! I bet you weren't expecting it to have its very own. . . . **ANIMUS DATABASE!** ^^ The link can be found on my profile ;)

Well, that's all for now I suppose! If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me, and feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Sequence One

I gasped and drew my hands from the keyboard as the screen glitched out and brought me back to a selection menu. "What the—?"

The voice of Melanie Lemay, my boss, came in through the intercom. "So sorry, Melody, but there's been a minor change of plans."

"Um. That's okay. Mind telling me what's going on?"

"Yes, right. We've switched your assignment from Kaniehtí:io to Ravenna Kenway."

"May I ask why?"

"The bosses over in Italy say it's more important. And that it's most important that _you_ are the one who completes it."

"Oh–_kay_. Could've just asked me nicely."

"Sorry. Carry on."

I shook my head and went back to my work. As the Animus booted up, I wondered what was so important about Ravenna that needed immediate attention. I was thrown into the image of yet another Mohawk girl bursting awake.

**Sequence One**  
**_Prepare_**  
Kanatahséton, September 1769

The girl muttered, jerking as she was pulled from her slumber. She glanced around, before putting a hand to her head. She groaned and stood up, exiting to find the camp already awake and busy.

"Sleep in again, Okwahoáwe:ri?" asked a man with a smile and prominent crow's feet.

"It would seem that way, Father," the girl replied, stroking her braid sheepishly.

The man chuckled, but soon grew serious. "Today is a special day for me, my daughter," he said. "And there is something I want you to have." Okwahoáwe:ri's father pulled from his pocket a ring made seemingly out of gold, with strange markings on it.

Okwahoáwe:ri took the ring and inspected it with curiosity. It shimmered faintly, glinting in the girl's chocolate-brown eyes. "What is this for, Father?"

"It was given to me by an old friend. He told me to safeguard it with my life. As my only daughter, you _are_ my life. And I have a feeling, today of all days, that this will be safer with you."

Okwahoáwe:ri glanced up at her father. She could tell this ring was very important to him.

"Do not wear it on your finger, but keep it safe. Promise me."

Okwahoáwe:ri nodded. "I promise Father."

He tousled her head. "Thank you."

"Kenenhskwas!" a strapping young man's voice called, waving. Okwahoáwe:ri's father waved back.

" Akweksoka:ra, your brothers, and I are going hunting. Would you like to join us?"

"No thank you, Father," Okwahoáwe:ri replied quietly. There was something off about her, in a PTSD sort of way.

Kenenhskwas sighed. "Well. Do not get into any trouble."

"I will not. . . ." When her father had gone, Okwahoáwe:ri got the idea to go out and collect the materials to make string. She wandered the woods with hemp in mind. Finding what she needed, Okwahoáwe:ri saw two others walk by, two boys around her age. One was just a little chubbier than the other and had feathers in his hair, whilst the other was just a tad paler than most of the other Kanien'kehá:ka I'd seen. Okwahoáwe:ri opened her mouth to speak up, but it worked without sound as she watched them walk away. She closed her mouth with a sigh and looked down to begin weaving. Yay minigames. And I learned that I didn't know how to weave. When it was finished (eventually), Okwahoáwe:ri threaded the ring onto the cord and tied it securely around her neck, then tucked it into her shirt. I was itching to read her database entry, but for now I wanted the story to play out itself. If I had questions this early, they just _had_ to be answered later at some point.

Okwahoáwe:ri stood up and began to walk back to the village. Nearly at the entrance, she heard cries of terror and ran to investigate. A time limit of sixty seconds and a health meter for Kenenhskwas appeared. The young girl sprinted as fast as she could, with the shouts of her father and brothers only getting louder. "Father!" she cried desperately. "Kanatakon:ha! Kahrhakon:ha!"

"Okwahoáwe:ri!" came the young man's voice from before.

A gruesome scene befell her. A bear was rampaging, with the three young men trying to beat it off of Kenenhskwas. "Akweksoka:ra!" she exclaimed in horror.

The young man glanced over for a split second. "Go! Find help!"

"You have it!" she replied fiercely, raising a knife.

The oldest of the three pushed Okwahoáwe:ri away. "_Find—help!_"

"But Kanatakon:ha!"

"Now!"

The girl dashed off, adrenaline fueling her back to the village. "Help!" she cried. "Help! My father! It is my father!"

"Okwahoáwe:ri, what is the matter?" a woman asked.

Out of breath, the girl only pointed. A few men prepared their weapons, but just then the boys returned, collapsing in the dust. The woman gasped and crouched beside Kanatakon:ha. "Oh my goodness! You're covered in blood!"

"Kenenhskwas," huffed Akweksoka:ra. "Bear."

"No," Okwahoáwe:ri whimpered, tears filling her eyes. "_No!_"

October 1769

Okwahoáwe:ri sat alone, looking haggard. She didn't look up as Kanatakon:ha approached. "My sister, I know you are upset. I am too. But we cannot dwell on our grief. Ori:te' and I will be married soon. And Kahrhakon:ha is trying to look past this."

"How can I?" the girl asked, her voice hoarse. "He knew, Kanatakon:ha. He gave me this. . ." she handed him the ring, "just before you left. He _knew_ this would happen. And since that day, I have been dreaming horrible dreams and—"

"Then use that," the boy whispered, giving it back. "Use that to guide you."

Okwahoáwe:ri sighed and buried her face in her knees.

Kanatakon:ha patted her shoulder. "Talk to him."

"What? Who?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton. He used to be your best friend. I think you need him now more than you ever have."

Okwahoáwe:ri stared at the air in front of her as her brother stood up and departed. And she thought about it. Yes. She would go speak with him. Okwahoáwe:ri got up and put the ring back around her neck, exiting after her brother. She scanned the village, but evidently did not see him. She searched for him in the longhouse, by the water, outside the gates, but he was nowhere to be found. Okwahoáwe:ri sighed, turning her head sharply as someone touched her shoulder. "Oiá:ner," she murmured downheartedly.

"What are you searching for, child?" the Clan Mother asked gently.

"Answers, I suppose," the girl responded.

Oiá:ner chortled. "Are we not all? What troubles you?"

"My father gave me this ring before he died, and I have been having nightmares ever since. I think I just need someone to talk to. Do you know where I might find Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

The old woman exhaled. "He is gone, dear child. The spirits called him elsewhere."

Okwahoáwe:ri's heart shattered, if it hadn't already. She took a shuddering breath. "I see. Thank you, Oiá:ner. . . ."

**_I'm Going On An Adventure_**  
April 1, 1783

"And then there was this _huuuge_ beetle!"

Okwahoáwe:ri chortled as she braided the little boy's hair. Many years had passed, and the girl was now a young woman. "A huge beetle?"

"Yeah! So y'know what Otsin'non:wa did?"

"What did Otsin'non:wa do?"

"He _ate _it! And then—"

A voice cleared their throat. "Oiá:ner?" Okwahoáwe:ri said questioningly, looking around. The Clan Mother had a serious look on her face.

"Do you mind if I steal your aunt for a moment, Tsisko:ko?" Oiá:ner said gently. "Why don't you go and find Otsin'non:wa? I saw him by the stream playing with worms."

"Okay," the boy murmured, standing up and heading out. "Thank you for putting a braid in my hair, auntie!"

"You are welcome, Tsisko:ko." Okwahoáwe:ri followed Oiá:ner outside and towards her home. "What do you need of me, Oiá:ner?" Her tone had darkened considerably.

"A word," the woman, older still, responded, beckoning for Okwahoáwe:ri to sit. "Come."

It seemed Okwahoáwe:ri had become stoic and hardened since her father's death and her friend's disappearance. At least one of her brothers had his own family to worry about now. The poor girl was all alone. "And what word would this be?"

"I apologize, _words_. Are your nights still troubled, child?"

"Of course," Okwahoáwe:ri responded. "Ever since that day. Why? What is this for?"

"And what do you see in these dreams?"

"Same as always. Murder. Me." She seemed reluctant to speak the next word. "Ratonhnhaké:ton. . . ."

"I sense there is more."

The girl paused and began to draw in the dirt. "There is this. . . ." I sat back as the shape became the Assassin insignia.

Oiá:ner nodded, and then sighed. "Ratonhnhaké:ton saw it too."

Okwahoáwe:ri gave a start. "Really?"

"Wear it."

"I—what?"

Oiá:ner gestured towards the girl's chest. Okwahoáwe:ri pulled out her ring. She was quite skeptical of it. "Why?"

"Put it on."

Okwahoáwe:ri eyed the Clan Mother suspiciously as she slipped the ring on. As her finger was enclosed in the object, everything around her changed. Oiá:ner disappeared, and the hut transformed into a glowing room of bronze. The Mohawk gasped with fear, eyes wide. "Where am I?!"

"You are in the Nexus."

Okwahoáwe:ri whipped around. A tall, pale woman had appeared. As an Assassin, I knew exactly who this was. "The what? Who are you?"

Juno. "My identity is not important. What is important is _yours_."

"_My_ identity?"

"Yes."

"I already know who I am."

"Not who you _are_—who you will be."

"And I am supposed to believe you know that fact?"

"Of course not. I only know who I _want_ you to be. And I can only guide you in that direction." And suddenly Okwahoáwe:ri was in the body of a wolf, running at the speed of wind towards the rising sun, the symbol of her dreams flying past her. "Seek a man from your past, for he is the key to your future. Your alliance is, in words you would understand, written in the stars. It is imperative that you meet; what comes of it is very important." The speed nearly made her sick until the vision abruptly came to an end and the world had turned black. Her head swam as her sight returned, the spirit's voice echoing in her ears. "Follow the symbol. . . ."

"Have you returned, child?"

Okwahoáwe:ri blinked rapidly. "I. . . I think so. . ." Once her head was clear, she rose with such swiftness as to almost make her dizzy again. "I must go, Oiá:ner; I have to find Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

"Then go you must. I sense this journey is not one to delay."

A new light jumped into her brown eyes. "Thank you, Oiá:ner! Thank you!" Okwahoáwe:ri rushed to pack her things. She slung her bow and quiver onto her back and grabbed her tomahawk from beside her bed. In her haste, she nearly ran headlong into the chest of a very large young man. "Apologies, Akweksoka:ra," she muttered. Clearly something about him did not please her.

"You are forgiven, my wife."

Immediately, the girl jerked her head up, her eyebrows furrowed. "I am _not_ your wife, Akweksoka:ra, and you are _not_ my husband."

"Not yet."

"Not ever, because Oiá:ner has told me to leave."

"Leave? Leave where?"

"Nowhere _you'll_ be able to follow."

"You're leaving?"

Okwahoáwe:ri looked down into the eyes of Tsisko:ko tugging on her skirt. She fought for words.

"Tsisko:ko," Kanatakon:ha, presumably his father, called sternly.

Okwahoáwe:ri exhaled and lifted the boy onto her hip. "Yes, my nephew. But I promise, we'll meet again one day."

There was a wisdom beyond his years in little Tsisko:ko's round eyes. "Okay."

She set him down and went over to hug her brothers. "If I don't return. . . I've found my place."

Kanatakon:ha nodded with a fist to his chest.

"Go safe, little sister," Kahrhakon:ha said, kissing Okwahoáwe:ri on the forehead. "We will love you always."

With one last look back, Okwahoáwe:ri set on her journey east. She would do as the spirit said. She would follow the symbol.


	3. Sequence Two

_**Snow Way Out**_  
Kanatahséton, December 1783

Okwahoáwe:ri laid her fingers beside the track in the snow. "Hm. . ." she murmured. "Lynx." Her gaze rose to follow the trail of pawprints leading northeast. She stood up straight and exhaled. The prints led away from one of her empty snares. She followed the trail forward. Okwahoáwe:ri found the cat not too far, but it noticed her and bolted, the hare in its mouth. She growled and gave chase, in vain. The lynx darted under a tree. Okwahoáwe:ri prepared to wait until it came out and land herself a lynx skin, until she heard the mewling of kittens, and her expression softened. She opened her arms. "You are welcome, sister." The lynx peeked her head out with a hiss, and the Mohawk backed off.

But now she was without a meal herself. "I suppose food can wait," she murmured. "I am close anyway." The woman knew the trail she was now on; despite it covered in snow, she'd seen it like this year after year. Noticing something familiar, she placed her hand upon a tree, a look of fondness spreading across her face. . . .

Kanatahséton, 1760

"Okwahoáwe:ri!" the boy called.

The girl giggled into her hand, moving to swipe snow off the branch she was sitting on, and onto the passerby's head.

"Okwaho—ah!" He shook snow from his hair and looked up as she laughed and climbed down. "There you are!"

"You look so silly, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"If you did not dump snow on my head." The boy took out a book. "I brought the book. So what did you need it for?"

Okwahoáwe:ri grinned. "My mother would never approve, but. . ."

"What?"

She glanced at her feet shyly before blurting, "Will you teach me English?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton cocked his head. "Really?"

Okwahoáwe:ri nodded eagerly. The two of them sat down under the tree as Ratonhnhaké:ton opened the book.

"_We used to come here every morning at sunrise. . . ._"

—

"And he would teach me English." Okwahoáwe:ri exhaled. She missed her old friend so much. There was a slight look of guilt on her face, but she carried on, murmuring, "Oh Ratonhnhaké:ton. . ."

The path she was taking was well-worn into her memory; she could find her way back with her eyes closed. She wouldn't, but—she could. In a matter of minutes, there it was. Her old village. Okwahoáwe:ri sighed with relief. Though the land had been sold, it hadn't been touched yet. As she made her way down, she heard voices. The woman climbed a tree and waited. Below her, heading towards the village, were two people, a man and a woman. "Are you sure this is safe?" the woman whispered.

"Quite safe, love. The Injuns haven't been here for ages."

Okwahoáwe:ri followed through the trees. The couple seemed awfully desperate as they slowly hobbled into the village. The man settled his wife on a stump and kicked up a fire. Here Okwahoáwe:ri noticed the woman was pregnant, and she felt pity. "What if they come back?"

"No savages are coming back to hurt us."

But if they hoped to survive, they'd have to learn respect.

Okwahoáwe:ri dropped from the tree into the village, a scowl on her face. The woman glared at her husband, who looked like he'd shit himself. "Those _savages_," the Mohawk growled, "are my people. And if you think you can come onto _my_ ancestral land and speak ill of them, you have another thing coming."

The man raised his hands in surrender. "I'm terribly sorry, miss. Please don't harm us. I have nothing against your people; my father only ever spoke such language. He taught me these words. Please; we're expecting."

Okwahoáwe:ri lowered her tomahawk and put it away. "I can see that. Why are you here?"

"Our wagon was ambushed. Bandits. We were on our way to Boston, but at this rate we'll have no reason to be there."

"We don't have anything," the woman said quietly. "No food, nothing even to cook it in."

Okwahoáwe:ri made for the village entrance. "I will return."

"Wh—" the man spluttered. "Where are you going?"

"To save your lives," she responded, gesturing towards them. "All three of you."

I was tasked with hunting three hares, which didn't prove to be too hard. Until I went to collect the last one and heard the sound of growling. Okwahoáwe:ri stood up straight, scanning the shadows. Suddenly, a wolf burst from the snow. Yay QTEs. The stream of canines was near-never-ending, as body upon body fell to the ground. Okwahoáwe:ri huffed, her hands and arms bloody. "I am sorry, my brothers." She collected her bounty and returned to the couple. Meanwhile, I was given a message about hunting contracts.

"Oh my goodness!" the woman exclaimed, her hands flying to cover her mouth. "You're covered in blood!"

"It is not mine," the Mohawk responded, sitting down. She began to skin one of the hares. "What are your names?"

The man put a hand to his chest. He had a strong jawline and brown hair. "I'm James. And this is my wife, Katherine." He gestured towards the woman, her blonde hair up in a bun at the back of her head.

"I am Okwahoáwe:ri."

The couple paused. "Ogwahoo. . . ."

"_Okwahoáwe:ri_. Call me what you will. It will not make a difference." She put the pelt away and impaled the hare on a stick, putting it over the fire. "Tomorrow I will teach you to hunt."

"Why are you doing this?" Katherine murmured. "Helping us."

"Is that not what one should do?"

"Well of course it is. But nowadays we just. . . expect people not to."

"That is unfortunate. So tomorrow we will hunt, James. That way it will not always be _me_ feeding _you_."

"Agreed," James replied. For the first time in months, Okwahoáwe:ri smiled.

In the morning, she taught James how to use snares and bait, and how to catch a deer with his bare hands. They would eat well for a long time. Back at the village, the trio laughed by the fire and exchanged stories. "Now, I thought the Mohawks had gone west," James said. "Why are you still here?"

The light tone had gone darker. "I am looking for an old friend of mine. He left us a long time ago, and it did not matter then. But the Clan Mother told me that I had to find him; not for the sake of the village, but for myself."

"What's his name?" asked Katherine. "We might know him."

"His name's probably harder to say than hers, Kat."

Okwahoáwe:ri grinned. "Ratonhnhaké:ton." Katherine's face turned blank, making the Mohawk chortle. "I will stay with you until spring. But I really must find him as soon as I can."

"You have our gratitude," said James. The three of them shared meaningful smiles.

_**Give Us Hope**_  
Kanatahséton, two weeks later. . .

"Be careful, James!" Katherine called after her husband.

"I'll be fine!" he called back.

Katherine sighed. "He's never careful."

Okwahoáwe:ri chuckled. "It would seem not. How are you feeling, Katherine?"

"Well, I suppose. But I've got this odd feeling. . ."

"You just want to be a mother already," the Mohawk replied. By the look on Kat's face, the baby must've been due a while ago.

After some silence, the mother-to-be asked softly, "Do you think I'll be a good mother?"

Okwahoáwe:ri smiled. "I think you will be an excellent mother."

And it seemed the baby thoughts so too. "Oh my. . ." murmured Katherine, holding her stomach.

"Katherine?"

"I. . . the baby. . . I think. . ." she cut herself off with an exclamation of surprise. Okwahoáwe:ri panicked. She'd never delivered a child before.

"Um. Just breathe, Katherine. Do not worry. It will be fine."

"I know it will," she replied in a strained voice, lying down on her makeshift bed. "You're here."

Oh geez, more quick-time. Well this was an experience. "You're doing well, Katherine," Okwahoáwe:ri praised. "I can see the baby."

"Good, good. . . ."

As the child gave its first screams, a thud sounded by the entrance of the longhouse. "Katherine!" James cried, abandoning his catch and rushing forward. "What—"

"You have a daughter, James," Okwahoáwe:ri said with a smile, presenting the newborn.

"A. . . a daughter. . ." he murmured. "What will we call her, Kat?"

"She has been our only source of hope these past hard months, James. To call her anything but is ridiculous."

"Hope," James whispered.

"Your Hope," said Okwahoáwe:ri, giving the child to her mother.

_**At War's End**_  
Kanatahséton, May 1784

"It is time, I think," said the Mohawk, "to head home."

The sun was not even rising yet, and the trio was already up. "What do you mean?" asked Katherine, coddling little Hope.

"Boston is where you said you were heading, right?"

"Well yes," responded James. "But my commission was in December. They've likely gone and hired someone else by now, they don't need me anymore. No point in us being there."

"But it is the closest, is it not?"

James didn't respond.

Okwahoáwe:ri clapped her hands together and stood up. "We cannot stay here forever, as much as it pains me to say so. This land is claimed by someone else, and we are only lucky that it has remained untouched. I have upheld my promise to help you until spring, but spring has come. It is now my duty to see you safe before I go." As she spoke, James had set to packing what little possessions they had. "Are you and Hope ready, Katherine?"

Katherine snorted. "As ready as we'll ever be."

James slung the very small bag of belongings over his shoulder. "We'll be off then?"

Okwahoáwe:ri nodded, and the trio set off with James in the lead. As they walked, they made light conversation. "Will there be somewhere you can stay in Boston?" the Mohawk asked.

"I've a cousin that lives by the harbor," Katherine replied, bouncing Hope on her hip. "He'd be happy to let us stay."

"Good."

"But what about you?" said James. "Where will you go?"

Okwahoáwe:ri sighed. "Where the wind takes me, I suppose. I assume, once I find Ratonhnhaké:ton, I will stay with him."

"But until then?"

The woman only chuckled. "You worry far too much. I am a savage, remember?"

James chortled, embarrassed.

"But in all seriousness, I'm sure I will figure something out."

"What if he's. . . y'know. . ." Katherine murmured sheepishly.

Okwahoáwe:ri hummed promptingly.

"It's nothing, really, just. . . . Well, what if he's dead?"

The Mohawk paused. The silence stretched out awkwardly. "He cannot be. The spirits would not send me all this way for no reason."

"Well," said James. "Should these 'spirits' have duped you—"

"James!" Kat muttered.

"You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need."

Okwahoáwe:ri smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she knew such good friends. "Thank you James. That means a lot to me. Now you two go on. There is something I must see."

She left the group and followed an old trail of hers. It led up to a hill that overlooked the area. As Okwahoáwe:ri reached the top, the sun crested over the horizon, illuminating the sky pink, tinging the ocean. She watched as the city of Boston in the distance began to awaken, the wind tossing her braid and skirt, as an eagle circled overhead. (Assassin's Creed Inheritance title XP) She took a deep breath. They were heading the right way.

Arriving in Boston, Okwahoáwe:ri was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. For the better part of her life, she kept to herself, even within the village. Regardless, that couldn't compare at all to the number of bodies around her now. James chortled. "Not one for the city, eh?"

She shook her head. "I will manage. Katherine, where is this relative of yours?"

"By the harbor. Damn man fought in the war, hangs a flag above his door. Can't miss it."

"Ah. The war." The Revolutionary war, I presumed. And we all know how that went. America's victory was the cause for the Kanien'kehá:ka moving west, as their ancestral land Kanatahséton was sold to cover wartime expenses. But it didn't matter at that point, since what they'd been guarding in Kanatahséton was safe—hence why they accepted the move. _I _know this because they're my ancestors; Okwahoáwe:ri my grandmother by ten or eleven generations. I'm roughly fifty-percent Mohawk myself, give or take, from my father's side. But enough of me, back to the story.

"Oh there he is," muttered Katherine. Switching Hope to one arm, she waved and shouted from the top of her lungs, "_WAAAALTERRR!_"

"Heh. That's my girl," James murmured.

A man wearing a blue overcoat turned, a large horizontal scar on his cheek. "Katherine!" he cried, coming forward to hug his cousin. "How are you, my dear?" Katherine bounced her baby, who laughed and reached out for Walter. The man took her and threw her into the air. "_Hello_ little one! I see things have been eventful for you, cousin." He passed her back and shook James's hand forcefully. "James m'boy! Good to see you!"

"Yes, good to see you too, Walter," replied James, subdued.

"And who the dickens might you be, miss?" Walter asked, turning to Okwahoáwe:ri.

She was surprised to say the least. "Er—"

"Well," Katherine cut in. "This is our native friend, a Mohawk. Her name is quite hard to pronounce, see, so we just. . . ." She sort of lost steam and shared a confused glance with her husband. "Well we don't really call her anything."

"Brilliant," Walter replied sarcastically, tipping his hat to Okwahoáwe:ri. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Mohawk."

"Pleasure's all mine, eh, Walter."

"Come, come, walk with me." The group followed Walter, who had a confident walk and an air about him that reminded me of a guy called Bartolomeo (_cough_). "You can start with the babe in your arms, lass."

Katherine chortled, bouncing Hope again. "Oh she's new. It'd be wiser to start with our friend here. On our way here to Boston, bandits attacked us and took everything. We found our way to the old village, but we weren't getting anywhere without food. Then she came along, our Mohawk, and she taught James how to hunt and she cared for us. She even delivered Hope back in December. We wouldn't be here without her."

Okwahoáwe:ri blushed, but was soon surprised again by Walter clapping her hard on the back. "Good on ya, Mohawk!"

She sighed internally. _Mohawk Mohawk Mohawk_. Couldn't they just learn how to say _Okwahoáwe:ri_ already? And if it had to be her nation, couldn't _Kanien'kehá:ka_ suffice?

"So what brings you around these parts?" said Walter. "Who wears the pants eh, James? You or miss Mohawk?"

Apparently not.

"Katherine, actually," replied James. "We didn't have a plan at first, since once my commission was rendered pointless, we had no place to go. It was her idea to come to you."

"That's my cousin," Walter said heartily, approaching his home and opening the door. "Maeve!" he called. "Katherine's come to visit!"

"_Ooh_, come in, come in!" called an extremely Welsh voice. The woman, a stout and portly thing with curly black hair, tossed her broom away and embraced Katherine, then James, then _booped _Hope on the nose. "What a cute little babby!" When the woman, Maeve, turned to Okwahoáwe:ri, the room seemed to dim. The native waved awkwardly. Maeve, her cheery rainbowness sucked away, grabbed her husband and yanked him off where they thought they wouldn't be heard. "Walter Earl Mills, what is _that_ and why is it in my home?!"

"Calm down love, it's just an Injun."

"_Exactly!_"

As they argued, Okwahoáwe:ri couldn't say she didn't expect this to happen sooner or later. She had learned this at a young age—natives were vermin. From the beginning she'd figured James had been lying, but she knew now his mind had changed. Maeve, well. . . .

"I'm sorry Katherine, but I'm afraid your friend _cannot_ stay here."

"Maeve. . . ."

There was an untold story in the woman's eyes. I kinda felt bad for her, but that didn't mean she had to be so rude. "That's final."

The couple turned to Okwahoáwe:ri, but she had already taken a step back, a sad smile on her face. "It's alright, Katherine. I have to go anyway."

"Right, of course. Radoomageddon."

The Mohawk snorted. "Yes, Radoomageddon." As she turned to leave and take her first steps away from her friends, she heard James begin to say something. It took him a few tries, but finally he called, unsure of his pronunciation, "Okwahoáwe:ri. . . ?"

She stopped in her tracks and turned, a smile beginning to crawl across her face.

"Er—Did I say that right?"

Okwahoáwe:ri grinned.

James chuckled, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "Thank you. For everything. We wouldn't be here without you."

"Visit soon, will you?" Katherine said, her eyes sad.

Okwahoáwe:ri nodded. "Our paths will cross again, my friends. And remember: _Og-wa-ho-ah-weh-ree_! Practice!"

The couple waved. "Goodbye!"

As she walked, Okwahoáwe:ri exhaled. Everyone glanced at her shiftily, and she knew it was because of her nation. She looked terribly out of place, and from this point on she could tell: Maeve would not be the worst of her troubles.

With vendors calling their wares and all the people around, it was hard to tell where she was going. "Oopse," she murmured, bumping into someone. This someone happened to be a big burly man with a scruffy beard. He turned around slowly to glare at her. Being twice her size, Okwahoáwe:ri began to back away slowly, chuckling nervously. "Heh. Sorry."

The man growled and took a step forward. Okwahoáwe:ri prepared to run, until hands gripped her shoulders and a cheerful Scottish voice said, "Ravenna! There you are! What did I tell you about wandering off?"

Okwahoáwe:ri stared at the new man, who had messy copper hair above an almost square face, and brown eyes. "Wh—"

"Just go with it," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "So terribly sorry sir, my servant here was, uh. . . dropped as a small child. Do excuse us."

The burly man grumbled and turned back around as Okwahoáwe:ri was dragged away. "Thank you," she said gratefully, glancing back. "That would have been bad."

The man chuckled. "You're welcome. What's your name, dearie?"

"Okwahoáwe:ri."

"Ah! Iroquoian?"

"Yes, actually, Kanien'kehá:ka."

"Oh a Mohawk! Pleasure to meet you. My name's John Smith."

Okwahoáwe:ri shook John's outstretched hand. "Will you be calling me 'Mohawk' from now on like everyone else I have met?"

John laughed. "If you don't want. Though _Okwahoáwe:ri_ is a bit of a mouthful. How about we stick with Ravenna?"

The Mohawk flapped her arms. "So be it. It is a welcome alternative."

"So what brings you to Boston?"

Okwahoáwe:ri, or Ravenna now, exhaled. "A search. I am looking for an old friend of mine, one I have not seen for over ten years."

"Sure he's not dead?"

She sighed harshly. "If he were known to be dead, I would not be here."

John raised his hands defensively. "Okay, alright. Hit a nerve there, I did. Any luck so far?"

Ravenna gazed off dramatically into nothing. "Well. This is the place described to me, I am sure. I have traveled long and far to get here, so I suppose it is time to start looking."

"Well, if you need a roof over your head, my door's open."

It took a moment for her to decode the idioms of the white man. "Oh," she finally responded, "yes, thank you. That is very kind of you."

"Aahh, kindness is my middle name. Can't say the same about my wife though. Oh dear. . . ."

Ravenna widened her eyes as a woman stormed forward from, presumably, John's home. "_John—Hamish—Smith!_"

"Afternoon, love," he responded meekly.

The dirty-blonde put her hands on her hips, her voice rife with Cockney accent. "Where 'ave you been?"

John pointed behind him. "Just uh, doin' a bit of sight-seeing."

She crossed her arms. "Sight-seein'?"

"Well, I talked to a man who said he had room on his land. Beautiful place too, you'll love it."

"And where is this place, hm?"

"Up north, everyone calls it the Homestead, it sounds great!"

John's wife exhaled harshly, giving in and kissing him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're 'ome. Nate's missed you terribly."

The trio walked inside, John with his arm around his wife. "He's a good lad. But where are my manners? Rose, love, this here's Ravenna."

Rose turned and gave the Mohawk's hand a small shake. "'Ello! I'm Rose, John's wife."

"Okwa—" Ravenna coughed. "Ravenna."

As a small boy ran out and embraced his father, Rose asked, "So what's a Native like you doin' out 'ere?"

"Looking for a friend," Ravenna explained for the umpteenth time.

"I'll be your friend!" the boy piped up. A twinge of homesickness panged in Ravenna's heart. He reminded her so much of Tsisko:ko.

"Will you now? And what is your name, little one?"

"I'm Nathanial and I'm eight years old!" Nathanial held up eight of his fingers. "Everyone calls me Nate though."

Ravenna smiled and tousled Nate's hair. "Well my name is Okwahoáwe:ri, and I am _twenty_-eight. But you can call me Ravenna."

"Wow! You have a cool name! I know it's cool 'cause I can't pronounce it!"

"Nate!" Rose scolded.

Ravenna chuckled. "No one can pronounce it," she replied.

"Miss Ravenna's going to stay with us for a little bit, Nate," said John. "Is that okay with you?"

Nate gasped. "Really? Awesome! We can make mudpies together! Can you teach me any cool Indian stuff Miss Ravenna?"

"Oh, if you would like," she responded. Turning back to Rose she said, "What I meant was a specific friend."

"If you wouldn't mind," said John, "we're in the middle of packing up to head north. A little help goes a long way, and you might find who you're looking for in the process."

"It would be my pleasure," Ravenna replied. "What would you have me do?"

_**Ravenna's Delivery Service**_  
Boston, June 1784

"Oh michty me. . . ."

Rose knew that phrase. As John entered the house with a letter in his hand, she and Ravenna both looked up; the latter having been telling Nate a story on her lap. "What's the matter?" said Rose.

John took off his glasses and returned them to his pocket. "I've said it time and time again, but he just won't listen, I knew this would happen. . . . Russ needs another shoe buckle."

Rose snorted. "Tosspot."

"I'd go give it to him, but I haven't the time. Ravenna, would you be a dear and run that shoe buckle to a Russell Howe?"

Ravenna lifted Nate from her lap and stood up. "Sure. Where can I find him?"

"Green Dragon Tavern, drowning in booze. And tell him I'm out of business at the moment, he won't be so lucky next time!"

She nodded and retrieved the silver shoe buckle from John's worktable, heading out. Yeah yeah, "courier missions are now available", _psch_. In the month she'd spent in Boston, Ravenna found the lack of crime to be rather. . . odd. What she'd heard from James and Katherine, last they'd been in Boston there were riots left and right. But of course, no one traipsed around in red anymore either, not since Evacuation Day last November. Whether Ravenna was aware of this was beyond me. Then again, taking into consideration that she rarely went outside for fear of discrimination, she didn't know about whatever crime there was, if any. Let's just all agree Ravenna's usually clueless.

Coming upon the tavern, Ravenna shyly entered, glancing about. The faint scents of alcohol and urine stung her delicate nose, making her face screw up slightly. An older woman approached and asked, "What can I do for you, dear?" She had an Irish accent.

"Oh, uh—I look for a Russell Howe."

The woman closed her eyes and sighed. "Why, what's he done this time?"

Ravenna smiled. "Lost a shoe buckle."

"For god's sake. . . ." she muttered. "He's over there, love, laughing his arse off."

"Thank you," Ravenna replied, dipping her head and stiffly approaching the man. He had scruffy dark auburn hair and a beard to match. "Russell Howe?"

The man sniffed, stifling his chuckles. "Who's askin'?"

His rough manner of speaking struck her as rude. Immediately offense replaced shyness and she thrusted the shoe buckle into his face. "John Smith."

"Oh! Me shoe buckle! Thank you kindly, ma'am." Rolling her eyes, Ravenna turned to leave. What surprised her was the slobbering, drunken kiss she received on the cheek. Russ and his band of friends burst out laughing, one of them falling from his seat. Ravenna pulled back her fist and punched him square in the beard before turning and storming out.

"How rude," she muttered, wiping her face with a deep frown. "And disgusting." Heading around the back of the tavern to go back home, she noticed a figure emerge from a small cellar and dart away. She watched the person go, admiring their skill of parkour. She shook her head and continued on her way.

As Ravenna returned from an errand of some sort, she watched with a smile as Nate peered up at the tabletop, trying to get a good view of John working his silversmith magic. "Will I be able to make pretty things with silver too, Papa?"

"We'll see, son. Evening, Ravenna!"

"Hello, John. Hello Nate."

"What've you been up to?"

"Trying not to be stared at as I watch the birds."

John chuckled as he stood up straight, a hand on his lower back. "Things'll change, m'dear. Things'll change. Speaking of change, I've got to go pick up a payment from a customer of mine. You know Rose is off at her book meeting, and I'd hate to leave Nate alone."

Ravenna chortled. "So what am I doing?"

"Could you watch him for a wee bit? I'll be back in no time at all."

"Of course, it would be my pleasure."

"Oh thanks," replied John gratefully, removing his apron. "Alright son, I'll be back soon. Don't give Ravenna a hard time, okay?"

"Okay, Papa." As John left, Nate came up to Ravenna and tugged on her skirt. "Can we play outside, Miss Ravenna?"

With a small smile, Ravenna took his hand and began to walk outside. "What would you like to play?"

"Can we play hide and seek?"

Ravenna nodded with a chuckle.

"Yay! Okay, you hide first." Nate roughly pushed her forward, sitting on the front step and covering his eyes. "One, two, three, four, five. . . ."

Grinning, Ravenna went just around the back and climbed a tree. As she sat in its fork, she began to remember the old days. Back when she was a child, before the village burned, she would play with the other children almost every day. And whenever Ratonhnhaké:ton was it, she'd pull this same trick and sit up in a tree, giggling as her footprints disappearing puzzled him. She would then drop a pinecone on his head and they'd both laugh until they were blue in the face. Despite what she told everyone, she wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't dead. She hoped with all her might that this journey wasn't for nothing, and that she wouldn't have to return and be wed to Akweksoka:ra.

"Sixty!" she heard Nate cry, and the child burst around, flapping his arms. He looked everywhere, he really did, and he seemed very confused. "Miss Ravenna?" he whimpered.

Ravenna dropped an acorn on his head.

"Ouch! Hey!" Nate looked up, and then smiled. "Wow! How did you get up there?"

As Ravenna climbed back down, she said, "I climbed it. I can teach you how to climb one day, if you would like."

"Really? That'd be great! Okay, my turn!"

Ravenna went out front and began to count to herself. "_Enska, tekeni, ahsen, kaie:ri, wisk. . . ._"

"_Ia:ia'k niwahsen!_"

When she returned back to the yard, she had to admit that Nate certainly knew how to hide. But she'd seen all his secrets from above as he'd searched for her. Soon Ravenna was checking every spot twice, and she started to worry. "Nate?" she called. "Nathanial?" When no response came, Ravenna grew frantic. "Oh no—Nate!" She went around to the front and found the boy shyly conversing with a man in strange white clothes, a hood covering his face. "Nate!?" Ravenna cried, speed-walking forward. The little boy turned and waved, coming to meet her.

"What's the matter, Miss Ravenna?"

"You scared me! Did your mother never tell you not to talk to strangers?"

The poor kid looked hurt, and confused. "He's not a stranger though, that's—" He pointed back over his shoulder, but the man was gone. "Where did he go?"

"I looked everywhere, Nate, please do not scare me like again."

Nate hugged her leg. "I'm sorry, Miss Ravenna, I just wanted to say hi. He's a friend of Papa's, so I thought it was okay."

"That is alright, Nate, I forgive you. I am sorry for yelling."

"That's okay. You were just worried. I understand. Hi Papa!"

It was then John returned, swinging his son up into the air. "Hello there, my wee lad! You didn't cause any trouble while I was away, did you?"

"Nope!"

John looked at Ravenna. "Did he?"

"Hey!"

Ravenna chuckled, her heartrate returning to normal. "No, he was very good."

"Splendid. Thank you, Ravenna, it means so much."

Though she nodded, Ravenna secretly didn't quite trust that hooded man. She was sure he was the same one from the tavern, and she didn't care if John knew him or not.

The Mohawk lie in her bed with a sigh, about to go to sleep it seemed, until Rose called her name. "Ravenna!" She was juggling Nate in her arms, the boy getting just a little big to be carried around anymore. "Oh please, could you do me this one teensy favor?"

Holding back an exasperated sigh, Ravenna responded, "Of course, Rose, anything. What do you need?"

"A break," she muttered under her breath. "John's gone away to this 'Homestead' again, off to see how the new house is coming along, and I've spent all my time keeping _this_ house tidy and this little bugger behaved. Could you bring this letter to him?"

Ravenna nodded, exhaling as she took the letter. "Where is the Homestead?"

"'Up north', he says, but that's not exactly the best description. I've only been there once; it's near in the middle of nowhere. Nate, would you—! "

"I will find him, Rose," Ravenna promised. "Be good for your mother, Nate, I will be back soon."

"With Papa?"

She tousled his hair. "Probably."

And so I was thrown into the world to do whatever. Now was probably a good time to go get those synch points. I'm sure Rose wouldn't be happy if she knew Ravenna just spent forty minutes climbing things, but oh well. I also took notice that she didn't know how to leap of faith. When I tried, she just jumped normally and died—well, desynched, technically. Tedious yes, but at least it made sense.

With that done and a beautiful map of Boston (aside from the South District that was blocked off for some reason) that would be utterly useless in a few moments, Ravenna made her way towards the frontier. _For fuck's sake, you can't ride a horse either?_ Wonderful. She had to run the whole way there.

_Runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin'. . . ._

_. . . .*random humming*. . . ._

_Draw a circle, that's the earth; draw a circle, that's the earth. . . ._

Oh, finally! Entering the area known as "the Homestead", Ravenna was greeted by a bearded man on a horse. "Hello there, _mademoiselle_! What brings you to these woods?"

She looked up at his kind eyes and replied, "I am looking for John Smith."

"Well you've come to the right place! Here," he extended a hand. "My name is Norris."

When Ravenna took his hand, she didn't expect to be yanked up onto the steed behind him. "I am Ravenna," she said.

"So what business do you have with John, eh?"

"A letter from his wife. It is my understanding that they will be moving to this territory soon."

"Indeed they will. I like John, he knows how to have a good laugh. He'll be a welcome edition."

"Do you also live here, Norris?"

"I do, me and my wife."

"What do you think of it?"

"Oh wonderful. Everyone is your best friend. And protected too, no one messes with our community."

"That seems nice. I shall pass on the good word to Rose."

"Here you are!"

Norris dropped Ravenna off in front of a home that looked maybe 90% built. A horse stood nearby, grazing. As the Mohawk dismounted and thanked Norris for his time, John himself came out of the house. "Ravenna!" he called, opening his hands. "What're you doing here, lass?"

Ravenna produced Rose's letter. "Rose asked me to bring this to you."

"Oh. . ." John took the envelope and inspected it for a moment. "You came all this way for this?"

"Indeed. She wants to know how the house is coming, though I do not know what else her letter entails."

"Thank you, then. Come on in, look around!" John beckoned his friend inside. In the house were two men, lumberjacks from their appearance, sorting out bits of furniture. "Oh I can't wait to move the family up here. So what do you think? After all, you'll be staying with us a little longer, won't you?"

"If you will have me. But do you have room?"

"Well, we've built in a few spares in case. . . _accidents_. . . happen. . . ."

Ravenna grinned. "That is great, John. I am very happy for you. It seems like a great place to live."

"I know! Wait until Rose gets a load of this! Also, I think you'll be glad to know, that I talked to the landlord, Connor, and he might be able to help you find your friend."

Ravenna's head buzzed with excitement. "Really? Thank you John! That means so much to me." In a sudden burst of affection, she took the Scot into a hug, grinning widely.

"Hey, we Smiths take care of our own. You're practically part of the family now!"

Ravenna smiled warmly. "So when will the house be ready? Nate asked me to bring you home."

"Well, I'd say in a few weeks' time, I'll be bringing _him_ home."


End file.
